


Wet Kisses

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Kittie And Gem Stories [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Blow Jobs, BAMF John, Coughing, Doctor John, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex, Sex cures everything, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes down with something, and kissing and sexual touching is the only cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Kittie and I wrote this a while ago, and as I feel bad for not being great on the story writing/updating recently, I thought to share some of our stories with you (there may be more coming).  
> Kittie wrote John.  
> I wrote Sherlock.  
> And then I tried to edit it.  
> Any mistakes are my fault!

It was hard to see anything from their vantage point, or rather; it was hard for John to see anything. Sherlock, on the other hand, could see perfectly fine and had informed John of that fact a few seconds earlier before quietening altogether. They were pressed up together, chest to chest, in a weird, small wedge between two buildings. It wasn’t exactly an alley as such, just a strange gap. A gap that was thankfully big enough for two fully-grown men to squeeze into together. It had been Sherlock’s idea to hide there, obviously, as with his keen eyesight he had been the only one to notice the space, and had all but dragged John over and then into the rough, scratchy embrace of bricks. John had been confused and just a little annoyed, after hardly having the time to get his bearings after sprinting a bloody marathon to get there in the first place.  
Sherlock had scraped his knuckles during the process of the both of them sliding deep enough to be hidden in the dark, but not so far deep that they weren’t able to see out of their hiding place – although John could see and hear and feel and smell nothing but Sherlock – and so John focussed on the smear of blood on Sherlock’s pale skin instead. John would have to clean and disinfect them once they got home. He couldn’t count how many times he had wrestled Sherlock down to inspect and then disinfect one of his injuries. The man was like an overgrown child, whinging and struggling and pouting.

Sherlock sniffled suddenly and tensed, his chest expanding in a judder, and from the darkness of their small space, Sherlock pressed his lips together and held his breath. For a moment or two Sherlock was as still as a statue, unmoving, unblinking, and not breathing, but then his nose twitched and he flung up a hand, which he promptly sneezed into.

John sighed and looked up at Sherlock, noticing the glistening of moisture dotting Sherlock’s nostrils and top lip, moisture which was promptly wiped away by the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat a second later, “I really think you’re coming down with something,” he whispered softly, attempting to move a hand up to touch Sherlock’s forehead to check his temperature but being unable due to the lack of space. “How do you feel?”

“Ssh!” Sherlock hissed without looking at John, his eyes intently staring out from where they were hiding. His eyes were very slightly glassy and Sherlock scrunched up his face and blinked furiously as they started to leak, wetting his cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock was opting to ignore his health for a case, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, however John was determined to do something about it whether Sherlock liked it or not. Throughout the day Sherlock seemed to have been getting progressively worse. His voice was thick and nasally, with some of his words coming out slurred, and his cheeks looked to be outwardly always flushed. At first John had thought, and hoped, that it was only because of the briskness of the wind and the constant running, but even when they had been indoors, Sherlock’s cheeks had been highly pinked. 

“Sherlock. This isn’t a good idea. You’re obviously not well… let’s just go back home and let Lestrade and the team deal with the thief yeah?” John coaxed. “I’ll take you home and make you some Lemsip and we can cuddle on the sofa and watch CSI… I know how much you like to shout at them – Come on, let’s go before you get worse.”

“Be quiet!” Sherlock snarled in a whisper that transformed very violently into a coughing fit that Sherlock couldn’t seem to stop. He coughed and strained until he eventually heaved dryly and covered his mouth. Inhaling a long, shaky and deep breath, Sherlock then held it, and blinked more tears from his eyes in annoyance, his gaze still trying to fixate on the far distance. 

John shot him a resigned sigh and looked up in vague concern letting his hand trail across Sherlock’s knuckles carefully, stroking them with a gentle pressure, “Let’s go home. You’re being stupid. This will clearly interfere and affect… well, anything we do. Become a distraction. And you don’t want that, do you? You can’t be happy out here in the cold feeling poorly?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s chest. “I have some remedies at home which will help you breathe better and hopefully stop you coughing… plus we’re not being very stealthy with you coughing your lungs up are we?”

Sherlock shook his head and after another moment of holding his breath, he started breathing again, tentatively, “We can’t just leave,” he told John with a watery glare, his voice croaky. “And I’m fine. I’ve had worse—I was fine yesterday, but for a few sneezing fits, but I…” As Sherlock trailed off he nudged John and pointedly nodded toward a suspicious looking man whom sneaked in from the place Sherlock had been fixated on.  
With a smirk, Sherlock watched him silently and waited until the man was fiddling with a latched window, until he slipped out of John and his hiding place and made toward him. After taking several steps, however, Sherlock paused and swayed on his feet, quickly holding his nose, obviously trying to keep back another sneeze.

“Jesus, Christ—Wait there,” John insisted, watching as Sherlock wavered from side to side dizzily. John took off after the would-be thief, reaching him quickly and tackling him to floor with a well-aimed grab around the waist. Within a few seconds, the man was down on the ground, John sitting astride him whilst on the phone to Lestrade. John looked over at Sherlock and gave a somewhat cocky smile, “So, can we go home now?”

Sherlock didn’t look immensely pleased but the glower he was trying to send John’s way was extremely weak, as tears streamed down his face and he sneezed three times in a row, and then coughing and stumbling. Sherlock growled and wiped his face with his scarf, then sniffed loudly and sneezed again, which only served to make his eyes water all over again. Sherlock hated being unwell, whenever he was, he seemed to be the most unwell a person could be. John felt sympathetic and amused by him each and every time.

“You’re a mess,” John said softly, unsure if he was mocking Sherlock or generally empathetic to the man as his tone shifted to a gentle cooing at the end. He adjusted his position on top of the captured man and exhaled through his nose, watching Sherlock fight to keep his face dry. “Why don’t you jump in a cab now and I’ll stay here and wait for Lestrade? -- In my medical bag I should have some cough syrup, decongestants and possibly some vapour rub for your chest. Get in your pyjamas and in bed. I’ll bring some chicken noodle soup back with me, okay?” He gave a soft smile and nodded when Sherlock peeked at him with reddened eyes. “Doctors orders.”

“Pair of faggots,” the thief from under him grunted in disgust.

John froze, clenched his jaw, shot a glance downward with an arched eyebrow, and then looked back at Sherlock. With a quick movement he elbowed the man in the back of the head and knelt down, digging his knee into the middle of his back, “Hm. Well, don’t forget… you got beaten by these two faggots, with one currently sitting on top of you, so I’d be careful what you say if I were you…” He said with a stern and annoyed face. Ignoring the man’s groan and hiss of pain, John looked up at Sherlock with devotion. “Go on. I’m fine.”

Sherlock hesitated a moment, giving the thief a look, but then nodded in defeat and carefully made his way to the main road, swaying and coughing into his sleeve with almost every step. It hardly took more than ten seconds for Sherlock to manage waving down a cab, and he clambered into it inelegantly, knocking his head on his way in. He looked overly flushed and a little dazed, and once inside the car, Sherlock took off his scarf and slumped down in the seat, sulky and disgruntled.  
John watched Sherlock go, feeling a flutter in his stomach at the love he felt for his best friend. It hadn’t been an easy time for him when he had admitted his feelings for Sherlock several weeks ago, but now they were finally committed and -out- and John was secure and confident in his relationship with the detective. Ignoring the thief’s sudden, gritted comment about police brutality, John waited for Lestrade and waved him over when the car eventually skidded to a halt with its blue lights flashing.

“Where’s Sherlock?” Lestrade frowned, looking around the area.

“Gone home,” John replied, moving to climb off the robber and rubbing his sore and stiff knees. “He’s coming down with a cold so I’ve sent him home. Doctors orders.”

Lestrade nodded and rubbed the back of his neck; although in no way homophobic, it had taken a while for Lestrade to reconcile with the idea of Sherlock and John in a relationship. Lestrade had always felt brotherly type affection for the detective and so he had been unsure of how to explain that to John without asking the man’s intentions, until John had reassured Lestrade that Sherlock would be safe and loved to set the DI’s mind at rest.  
John handed over the thief and promised to fill out the paperwork the following day, with or without Sherlock, and left a smiling Lestrade to sharply elbow the filthy-mouthed thief in the ribs as the man continue to call out slurs.  
John stopped off at Tesco on the way back to the flat, grabbing bread and milk along with tins of easily digested food, and then popped the Chinese next door, ordering Sherlock’s chicken noodle soup and something for himself, before catching a cab home.

“I’m back,” John smiled as he opened the door, staggering to a stop as the overwhelming scent of eucalyptus flooded his senses. Blinking rapidly, John wrinkled his nose and glanced up the stairs. “Jesus, how much did he use?” He gasped under his breath as he ran up the stairs, careful not to slosh the soup. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“No,” Sherlock said snappily from his place huddled on the sofa, wrapped up in a bed sheet. He was still watery eyed and pink cheeked, and a small pile of sodden and used tissues were heaped up on the seat beside him, and there was a half used toilet roll balanced on Sherlock’s covered and upturned knees. Sherlock reached for it, tore off a new piece, folded it neatly twice, and then wiped his red and wet nose with it, sniffling and frowning. The sheet around him was faintly parted at his bared chest, which gleamed slickly with what could only be the overuse of a tub of Vicks Vaporub ointment.

“You er…” John coughed and attempted to breathe through the pungent aroma. “You certainly used enough.” He walked up beside Sherlock and put a cool hand on his forehead, frowning faintly at the temperature. “Hm. You’re a little warm – do you want the soup now?”

“No,” Sherlock mumbled and looked up at John just as his eyes watered again, smearing the sides of his face. “I’ve realised that it might not be a cold—fever is commonly not present with adults who have a cold. Influenza, on the other hand…” Sherlock coughed suddenly and covered his mouth with a hand and another wad of tissue, groaning with a nasally mumble.

“Yeah. I do know that. I am a doctor,” John grumbled and took the foodstuffs into the kitchen, putting everything away then clicking on the kettle. “And I didn’t say you were feverish, I said you were warm—Have you taken some of the medication we have? It’ll help clear your sinuses at least.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied and ripped off another piece of toilet paper to dab at his eyes with. “Thank you, John.” He tugged the sheet tighter around his body and then dropped his head back on the top of the sofa with a thick sigh of annoyance.

“Right.” John made tea and brought Sherlock’s to the sofa, placing it within arms reach before settling into his chair and opening the newspaper. He took occasional sips of tea whilst flicking through the pages, listening to Sherlock’s pained coughs or sniffs, and dreaded the next few weeks. Sherlock was never the best of patients when he was unwell. He would both ignore everything until he ultimately collapsed, or he’d whinge and complain, acting up and incessantly whining for attention.

“…What are you doing over there, John?” Sherlock groused raspingly with a frown a couple of seconds later, lifting his head and sniffling loudly. He reached for the tea and took a few gulps of it, then put it aside and whined low in his throat, pressing tissue to his sore and leaking nose, and muttering about the amount of lost fluids.

“I’m reading a paper,” John muttered sarcastically. “Deductive genius…”

“No, you idiot. You said we could watch CSI,” Sherlock grumbled. “You said there would be cuddles and boring, rubbish, pathetically simple TV shows to watch. – I’m sick, John! I need some entertainment. I need to feel better by seeing how bad things are in other areas with other people. Fictional or otherwise. In fact, Jeremy Kyle wouldn’t go amiss, either. A huge majority of the people that go onto that show are morons with horrendous lives, it makes me happy.” Sherlock’s mouth flickered on a grin but he covered it with a tissue to wipe his nose again.

“Bloody hell,” John smirked and stood up. “I did say that, didn’t I? I am a terrible doctor, should be struck off.” He reached over, turned on the telly, and walked to Sherlock. “Do you want to spoon or do you just want to curl around my lap like a giant house cat for me to pet?”

Sherlock reached for him eagerly, again acting like an overgrown child, and pulled John down beside him to awkwardly scramble and sit across John’s lap, resting his head on John’s shoulder and tucking his bare feet under one of John’s thighs, “Why do you always symbolise me as a cat? What’s catlike about me? Why a cat?”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s not a domestic cat that I see you as exactly. More like a giant panther, all sleek and graceful with your dark hair and beautiful eyes. – You walk around like you own the place, demand my attention constantly, and only eat when something is put in front of you… you’re also quite prone to bringing dead things into the flat.” John giggled and kissed Sherlock’s cheekbone, stroking back his hair. “My poor, poorly Kitty.”

Twisting his body into John’s, Sherlock curled both arms around John’s neck and loosely clung at his clothes, until he had to unravel one arm to blow his nose, “What are you then? A dog?” He murmured, attention on John and not the TV screen. He was droopy eyed and looked fatigued, but he stroked his warm fingers up into the hair at the back of John’s neck happily, content to be in John’s presence.

“Hm. Maybe…I mean… Loyal…Protective…Loving,” John paused to kiss Sherlock’s forehead and nuzzle him slightly. “Not ashamed to rut against your leg.” He grinned. “Happy when running around with his master… If only I could lick my own bollocks and I’d be all set.”

Sherlock huffed with amusement and smiled widely, pushing closer to John with a coughing sort of sigh, “I feel awful,” he moaned and pressed the side of his face into John’s. “I have muscle ache, John. I ache everywhere.” 

John hummed in sympathy and stroked up and down Sherlock’s back gently, “I would offer to give you a backrub but I don’t think lying on your front will do you much good for the moment. How about we give you a nice hot bath? Or would you prefer me to just cuddle you a bit longer?” He dipped his hands into the opening of Sherlock’s sheet and stroked a hand through the small scattering of Vicks coated curls near his nipples, circling his fingers and massaging the skin.

With a low whiney groan, Sherlock snuggled tight against John and draped over him, “…You know, sex is said to ease cold-like symptoms,” he muttered after a long span of silence where he merely rested into John warmly. 

“Yeah, it can be said to make you feel better and less stuffy… although… really? You’re aroused now?” John raised an eyebrow. “With the coughing and sneezing and…. Mucus?”

“…No,” Sherlock admitted and sighed, “but that hasn’t stopped me before. Just need for you to touch me up a little.”

“Whoa! Wait… hang on… are you telling me that sometimes you’re not in the mood when we have sex, yet you do it anyway?” John asked, pulling Sherlock away from his shoulder and looking in his eyes. “That’s—Jesus. Sherlock. You never have to do that. If you don’t want to have sex, then tell me. You don’t have to do it to keep me sated.”

“Yes I do,” Sherlock scoffed with a roll of his slightly glazed eyes, “You like sex. If I turn you down, you do that…sulking face of yours. And then you’re all like, “Oh. Okay, Sherlock. That’s fine. Maybe next time, yeah?” That’s you. Right there. You. You do this sad little face, and you look so downtrodden—Anyway, I enjoy it once we get started. I’m just not particularly interested in it right away. I’m not as sexually active or sex needy, as you.” Sherlock tugged on John’s top with a pouting frown and tried to push his face back to his shoulder. 

“No,” John said firmly, yanking Sherlock back to face him. “Whether I have a sulky face or not, you never have to have sex with me again if you don’t feel like it. Bloody hell Sherlock, now I feel like a complete dick! I’ve been having sex with you when you don’t want it… I… god.” John rubbed his face and grimaced as the Vicks coated his skin. “I’m not trying to get you to relent when I say ‘maybe next time’ I genuinely mean that it’s okay if we don’t have sex…”  
John tugged Sherlock into a messy and sloppy kiss before pulling away again, “Please promise you’ll only have sex because you want to… if it means I have to have lonely wanks in the shower several times a week I will do, because I don’t ever want you to feel like you need to make me happy in that way.”

“But everyone does it, John,” Sherlock said with a cough, wiping his nose before he continued. “Your dates did it, your girlfriends did it; all couples do it from what I gather—At least I don’t fake my orgasms.” Sherlock smiled at him but it faltered and then fell completely as he sighed with a rumbling of his mucus filled throat. “Fine. I promise. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I just don’t want it to feel like you’re doing it to keep me happy. That’s not why I want to have sex.” John snuggled into his lover and stroked his hair. “Is there… Am I doing something wrong? Would you like me to do something different? Or I could stop doing something if you prefer?” He blushed and cleared his throat. “But I’m happy that you’re not faking your orgasms, I think I’d have died of shame if that was happening.”  
John handed Sherlock another tissue, stroking through his curls, “And anytime you want sex, you just tell me. Don’t wait for me to bring it up. I’m happy when you’re happy.”

“I don’t think you’d want sex when I want it,” Sherlock snorted with a wry grin as he leaned into John’s touch. “But I wouldn’t mind doing something now? Take the edge of this blasted, horridly tedious flu? I’d be so terribly grateful—I’ll do the dishes? Sometime. Maybe. If I remember.”

“Wait, why? When would you want it?” John asked with a laugh, nuzzling against his cheekbone. “And if I was to do things now you’re all plague-ridden, what would you like to do? How can I cure you?”

“Toss me off,” Sherlock said bluntly and glanced fleetingly at the TV screen. “I’m too sick for anything else, really. I just want to take the edge off, and if some sort of sexual activity will do that, then I want it. The endorphins alone will make me feel better.”

John kissed behind Sherlock’s ear and down his throat as he shuffled his hand further down Sherlock’s sheet clad chest and stomach. He wiggled his bum, watching as the sheet opened to bare the semi-hard cock, “Mmmm, do you want lube or are you happy with spit?” John whispered teasingly.

“Lubricant means you have to get up and get it,” Sherlock complained as he adjusted his position to stretch out his legs slightly, exposing more of himself to John’s gaze and dabbing at his sore nose. “I want a kiss.”

John grimaced and handed Sherlock yet another tissue “Fine, but blow your nose and cough first please. I don’t want a mouthful of snot,” he said as he trailed a hand down Sherlock’s belly and scratched at his neatly groomed pubic hair.

Sherlock sullenly snatched the tissue and did as asked, coughing while he blew his nose and then bending for another few wads of tissue as the coughing continued, swiping his nose and eyes with two separate piece of toilet paper. Once he was finally done coughing, Sherlock cleared his throat with a wince, took a slip of tea, and then turned his head expectantly to John with an expectant smile. John had come to love that smile. Sherlock was incredibly affectionate behind closed doors, and would spend hours touching, holding, leaning, and snuggling up against John at any given opportunity, smiling that same expectant smile, and awaiting the receiving affection from John. Sherlock adored kisses and being held, and sometimes, if they were embracing whilst standing, Sherlock would rock and sway them from side to side.  
Running a hand through Sherlock’s fringe, while the other rested over his cock, John tilted his head and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s with a small smile. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s hot length and gave a tug as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue inside Sherlock’s mouth with sweeping, adoring rolls.

“I like kissing you,” Sherlock told him with a shudder seconds later when he pulled back to wipe his nose, and drink another sip of tea to ease his scratchy tone of voice. “Not sure if I’ve ever told you verbally yet, but, I do. I like it. I want to kiss you a lot—Sometimes I kiss you while your sleeping.”

“I’m glad you like kissing me. I like kissing you too,” John whispered, kissing each side of Sherlock’s mouth. “I like kissing you here…” he kissed Sherlock’s lips, “and here,” kissed his nose, “and here,” and set a path of kisses up to Sherlock’s hairline. “I wish there was more time in the day for kissing.”

Sherlock grinned dreamily at him, his mouth wonky and unguarded as he lifted his hips with the stiffening of his penis, “I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” he sighed and touched the side of John’s face with his fingertips, smoothing them across his skin and eagerly over the faint stubble of his chin. 

“I’ve always wanted to kiss you too,” John replied, kissing Sherlock again and coaxing more of an erection out of him. John’s own cock was rapidly hardening under Sherlock’s arse from the stimulation and sensation of Sherlock’s yielding mouth and hard shaft. “Mm, that’s it, get nice and hard for me. I want to make you feel better.”

Beginning to squirm on John’s lap, Sherlock exhaled with a gurgling sounding moan of pleasure, and smeared his mouth up John’s jaw. His length thickened and throbbed as it arched up into John’s hand stiffly, the head of Sherlock’s penis slicking with pre-ejaculate quickly. Sherlock turned his head to look down and watch John’s hand, and then began to slowly thrust into John’s fist with a faint pant that tumbled into a cough. He had always been highly sensitive to John’s attention, blushing with pleasure at any praise John bestowed, and it was no different in the bedroom. Sherlock and would react to each and every touch like it was the very first, squirming and enjoying John’s deft and skilful caresses.

“Yes,” John groaned quietly, twisting his hand and letting his thumb rest across Sherlock’s frenulum whole he gave rapid strokes. “Beautiful, God, you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m not,” Sherlock snorted with a grin, sniffing as he arched his head back with a pleasured sigh and worked his hips a little more, taking a moment to dab at his nose with a huff of annoyance. 

“Yes. You are. You really are,” John countered. “My beautiful, amazing, genius detective.” John twisted his hand and moved his other hand up to pinch and roll Sherlock’s nipples between his fingers.

“Nuh-not like this, I’m not,” Sherlock retorted with a shaky, moist breath and an involuntary juddering flex of his buttocks and thighs as he bucked wildly, the touch at his nipples making his eyes roll back. His penis twitched in John’s hand warningly, the flushed and overly wet head glistening. Sherlock snuffled and rolled into the next thrust, his hands gripping at John’s arms eagerly.

“Okay maybe you look a little rough,” John admitted with a teasing smile, “But you’re still very gorgeous to me. Even more so when you’re so close to the edge… so, so very close. Show me Sherlock, I want to see you come on my hand.”

Sherlock flushed at John’s words and pushed up against John’s fingers, fucking the fist harder with a wheezy breath and a thick, deep groan. He moved a little more frantically for a moment or two, and then thrust thrice in a row tautly, before his penis throbbed hard and pulsed streams of ejaculate over John’s hand and Sherlock’s own stomach and quivering thighs. Sherlock grunted and then moaned loud and long, rotating his hips in his orgasm with a quirk of his mouth, his eyes heavily lidded.

“Fuck, so sexy Sherlock,” John moaned, bucking his own hips to press his cock against Sherlock’s arse, as he teased the remaining drops of come from Sherlock and then bringing his come coated fingers to his lips, sucking them seductively, tasting the musky fluid. “Feel better my love?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered and slumped slowly down, sprawling across John’s lap and the remaining length of the sofa with his legs. Reaching for the toilet roll, Sherlock then cleaned up his mess lazily, wiping at what remained on John’s fingers. “Thank you, John—I want a kiss.”

John nodded and gripped Sherlock’s chin, turning his head until they were facing one another and letting their lips touch, slow and seductive. John pulled away and snuggled further down the sofa with him, “Feel sleepy? You should have a nap.”

“M’kay,” Sherlock mumbled with a sniffle and a cough, curling up in John’s lap naked and warm and satisfied. “I’ll shout at CSI another time.” He grinned and slipped his arms around John tightly, nuzzling his chest and listening to John’s heart.

 

John awoke to a strange sound and stranger sensation, and blinking open his eyes, he first realised he was still in the living room on the sofa, but he was covered by Sherlock’s discarded white sheet which was draped over a moving bulge at John’s crotch. The older man raised the corners of the sheet slowly, lifting his brow at Sherlock, who made a filthy snort and choking sound while he sucked and licked at John’s semi-hard penis. John moved his hand down and stroked through Sherlock’s curls, “Um… what are you doing?”

Sherlock looked up at him and pulled off with lewd slurp, bringing up a folded piece of toilet paper to wipe his nose with, “Really?” He muttered sarcastically with an arched eyebrow, pointedly gesturing to where he was and to John’s penis. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Yeah, yeah I understand that you’re er… pleasuring me… but why? You’re sick. You must be suffocating with a blocked nose.” John grinned softly, and continued stroking his hair. “Or is this another miracle cure?”

“No,” Sherlock said with a faint pout, reaching up to fondle John’s saliva slick length idly. “And I mean, no to it being some miracle cure. If anything I shouldn’t do it but…I wanted to—Was I meant to ask? I know I should ask but I wanted to surprise you. And you deserved it, after taking care of me… Thought it was a good idea. Is it not good?” Awkwardly, Sherlock snuffled loudly and coughed into his arm.

“It’s very good,” John said and caressed across Sherlock’s face and over his wet lips. “I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself. Or push yourself into making yourself worse. You can carry on if you want…but you don’t have to if you don’t feel up to it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, dabbed at his nose again, and slipped the head of John’s penis into his mouth once more. It looked as though he was holding his breath as he continued with the slow, teasing rhythm he had been using before, whilst Sherlock snuffled and swallowed around John, and after a while he paused to pull off and take in a few gulps of air and blow his nose. It wasn’t the most pleasant of things for John to witness, especially with his penis so close to what was going on, though he could easily overlook it when Sherlock looked up at him with dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and a smile. Sherlock he went back to suckling John in his mouth, still unable to breathe through his blocked nose, and John huffed out a small laugh.

“I would offer you some more methol stuff but I don’t want it anywhere near my bollocks,” John smiled, groaning when Sherlock tongued at his slit teasingly. “God, that feels good.”

When John was at full hardness, Sherlock pulled back and coughed into his free hand, stroking John with the other, “I hate being sick,” Sherlock said, his voice thick and deep and slurred. “Everything is so tedious. I can’t breathe. I ache everywhere. And my nose won’t stop leaking!” Rubbing a fresh balled up crumple of tissue against his sore, stuffy nose, Sherlock squeezed John’s erection and looked up at John’s face.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not feeling well enough, pet,” John soothed and rubbed lovingly Sherlock’s cheekbone, feeling the swollen sinuses beneath. “Just… unggg… use your hand if you want to finish me.”

“But I want to do this,” Sherlock whined with a husky tone, and leaned back in to greedily take John back into his mouth, almost completely, though he shied away from taking John into his sore throat. He increased the pace of his mouth and tongue for a moment, as well as the suction, but then suddenly drew back with a few juddering attempts at inhales and sneezed over John’s crotch. Twice.

John looked down at Sherlock, then his cock, and then back at Sherlock again as he blinked rapidly and let his mouth fall open in both vague disgust and hilarity, “You just sneezed on my testicles…”

Sherlock flushed but glared half-heartedly, “Yes. I realise that—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he grumbled and reached for some more toilet paper. “I’ll…clean it off.”

John giggled, slightly manically, and shook his head, “Come here,” he pulled Sherlock up and positioned them so that his half hard cock was comfortably against Sherlock’s bum as they spooned. “Don’t worry about it, just relax. Do you need anything?”

“You don’t want me to…carry on?” Sherlock asked him, looking a little embarrassed and sullen, his ears and cheeks rosy. “I suppose it was rather repellent—” He sneezed into a tissue and then frowned deeply, touching his head with a groan of annoyance.

“No, you don’t have to carry on… It’s fine. We’ll finish once you’re feeling better… or I could always…” He trailed off and rolled his hips, catching his cock in the gap between Sherlock’s thighs and giving a tentative thrust with a groan.

Sherlock glanced down briefly and adjusted his position with a gurgled hum of interest, “All right,” he agreed and blew his nose and coughed, sniffling loudly with a huff. “I have a headache…”

John nuzzled against Sherlock’s neck and moved one hand to rub against his lover’s sore temple, digging his fingers in slightly in order to massage some of the ache away, “Just relax my love,” he whispered, moving to sweep his fingers across Sherlock’s sinuses and drain some of the fluid, knowing the kneading of his fingertips got the desired result when Sherlock gave a dramatic sniff and swallowed with a grimace. John rolled his hips again and again, feeling his cock swelling and fully hardening in the gap between Sherlock’s thighs, before beginning to leak sticky pre-ejaculate across his skin.

“S’nice,” Sherlock slurred with a rumbling, scratchy purr, and pushed up into John’s fingers as he shifted his legs and rubbed the lean and toned line of his thighs against John’s leaking cock.

John smiled, pushing a little more firmly onto Sherlock’s under eyes, trying hard not to hurt the younger man. His hips continued to slap against Sherlock’s plush arse as he thrust, feeling the first stirrings of orgasm rising in his lower abdomen, “Do you… Can you kiss me do you think? I want to… God… I want to kiss you when I come.”

Sherlock grunted gravelly, “I can kiss you. I like kissing you. Don’t really need an excuse to want to kiss you. Always want to,” he said in a sort of ramble, turning toward John a little after he’d wiped his nose and eyes.

“Just making sure you wouldn’t sneeze on me,” John teased and twisted his body to better accommodate Sherlock’s position and rest his head against Sherlock’s clammy forehead. “So close now, squeeze your thighs a bit more please…just… yes there, like that. So perfect.”

Sherlock reached up to stroke John’s cheek with his fingertips and moaned lowly with a moist sigh, “Take me to bed after. I’m tired,” he whispered and smoothed his fingers around to curl at John’s nape, scratching lightly at the hair there before delving up and across his scalp.

“Yesss,” John groaned, breathing raggedly with his eyes tight closed. “I’m… oh God, so close. Sherlock…” His hips uncoordinated as he thrust harder and harder, until he stilled, panting hard as his orgasm washed over him in thick bursts, which painted the insides of Sherlock’s legs. John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s own, opening his mouth and kissing him sloppily and without skill, and choked out a wavering moan in bliss.

With a shaky exhale, Sherlock returned the kiss eagerly, closing his eyes and cupping the back of John’s head to urge him closer, deepening the messy kiss for another minute until Sherlock had to turn aside to breathe properly. Keeping his hand against John’s head, Sherlock carded his fingers through his hair and then down and along the back of one of his ears.  
He slumped a little with a small yawn and cleaned them both up lazily, bunching tissue between his thighs, “You would have had a more intense orgasm if I was able to breathe through my damn nose,” he griped. “And not sneeze all over you.”

“It was a perfectly enjoyable orgasm,” John yawned and kissed Sherlock softly. “Come on, let’s put you to bed. I’ll get you some more tablets and cough syrup and hopefully you’ll sleep properly.”

“Pick me up,” Sherlock muttered as he peppered wet kisses along John’s jaw and grinned faintly into his cheek, wrapping his bare arms around his waist clumsily.

“You’re a human sloth,” John chuckled and put one arm under Sherlock’s knees and another around his back, lifting him easily and carrying him from the sofa into their shared bedroom, where he placed him softly onto the bed. John turned back at the door and walked through to the kitchen, grabbing the various medications and a glass of water before returning to Sherlock’s side, “Here love, take these. I’ll rub your face and head a bit more if you like?”

Sherlock nodded as he took the water, “Yes. It felt really good. Almost orgasmic,” he told John with a low groan of appreciation, looking up at him with a smile and delightfully flushed from their kisses. He obediently swallowed down a few tablets and reached for John, unhappy until John grinned and moved in beside him, cradling him closely. 

“I love you,” John whispered against Sherlock’s clammy forehead, where he later pressed a kiss, brushing back his fringe. 

“Hm. I know – Even after I covered your genitals with mucus,” Sherlock murmured, smirking at John’s revolted expression. “Must be that long lasting sort.”

John snorted and rolled his eyes, stroking Sherlock’s jawline, “Must be.”

“…Would you still love me if I had sneezed against your anus?—”

“Sherlock!” John laughed, pulling the sick man against him, muffling Sherlock’s responding chuckle with a kiss and a tightening embrace.

**Author's Note:**

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